Vanderbrew

He stumbled away from his life and awoke in another.
It wasn’t always like this.
He’d had direction, purpose, drive, once.
But now he had no rudder, to hold him to his course.

Some people will think that he could just stick it out.
If he just tried, he could hold steady.
They don’t understand.
He has no control.

He settles into a role.
It all goes so well.
He starts to have doubts.
It all goes to hell.

It’s not a path he’d have chosen.
If he was given a choice.
But it was thrust in his way.
And now it simply is.

But maybe he’s got it all wrong.
Maybe he has no choice.
Because he makes.
No choice.

The water in the stream.
Goes where it goes.
The fish in the stream.
Goes where it wants.

And now he must ask himself.
Is he water.
Or is he.
A fish.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 16th, 2006 at 8:40 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.